


We define insanity

by EnlacingLines



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, M/M, Reincarnation, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), character death for reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: “Um, do you know each other?”Sylvain’s query is a bridge to reality, and Ashe snaps his eyes away and sees him looking between them, the signed register still held out.“No,” Felix says, then turns on his heel and marches out of the shop, Ashe finding himself exhaling shakily in his wake.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 19
Kudos: 55





	We define insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the fact that I, in my infinite stupidity, have killed both Ashe and Felix in various runs. 
> 
> This is a reincarnation AU. Therefore, there is character death mentioned. Please know that before reading. 
> 
> Vague spoilers for the game and spoilers of character death lines. 
> 
> Thank you to the amazing MxTicketyBoo for suffering through this and giving my wonderful suggestions <3
> 
> Enjoy (?)

He dreams of flying, always has. There’s nothing special about that, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet the nuances of this particular dream have repeated themselves night after night, for as long as Ashe can recall. 

Perhaps then, not so ordinary. 

He soars over a city, robustly protected for battle or conflict. Clearly bracing itself, from the soldiers rushing to the gates, or from the feelings that accompany him, muted anxiety and a readiness he has never felt in his daily life, coiled and waiting to act when the signal is given. 

It’s a beautiful day. Clear, bright, the grey-white stone of the city sparkling as he goes ever higher, then swoops down as he clears towers that are too decorative to be manned. As he goes, he sees them, and he feels himself dive, body and soul, into the beginnings. 

And there he stands. By the gates, one of a number, one of the first wave, and although he never sees his face, his features, the sense of knowing stabs harder and clearer than anything in a mere dream should. 

The man made of lightning. 

And then, Ashe falls. 

* * *

His sister has sent him five messages since he last checked his phone reminding him of Lonato’s birthday in two weeks. She’s six years younger than him, and yet she seems to need to corral both her brothers into action, despite the fact that Ashe has never once forgotten their foster father’s birthday. 

He hides around one of the stacks to reassure her he booked his train tickets weeks ago, and he’s working on a present. He sighs then goes back to stacking their new arrivals, the scent of parchment and ink a calming balm. It’s quiet today, not that it ever gets particularly busy in a specialist bookstore, but it’s midweek and outside of tourist season; Ashe doesn’t expect much other than their regulars today. 

As if to challenge this, there’s a chime of the old fashioned bell from the counter, and he sighs once more, putting his task aside. He isn’t the only one here, but is the only one manning the customer area, so assembles his professional smile as he makes his way to the desk they call a counter. 

“Hi, can I help you?” he says, the man at the desk turning at the sound of his voice. 

The sense of deja vu crawls down his spine, world seeming to shift and shape around this tall, redheaded man he’s never seen before. He can, for a split second, imagine him laughing loudly, words imploring Ashe to...do something. He can see it, so clearly, turning to follow him, almost running to stop him from-

“Oh hey, I have an order that’s come in stock, got the email today,” he says, waving his phone and smiling politely. 

Ashe nods, swallowing down the strange feeling that passes. He bends over the computer and starts the system, before asking the man to read aloud his order code. The name ‘Sylvain Gautier’ pops up, and Ashe absolutely does not know that name, so he cannot recognise this person. 

“I’ll go collect them for you, it’s two books on...narratology?” Ashe questions and the guy laughs. 

“I know, I’m a TA. My students have chosen topics where I have to special order material to help. Typical,” he says, and Ashe laughs, promising to return shortly with the books. 

It doesn’t take long to find, but they are stored at the back of the recent arrivals, so it takes him a while to actually reach them. Sylvain, though, is just standing typing on his phone when Ashe returns, smiling gratefully when the package is handed over. 

“If you’ll just check them, then sign-” 

He’s interrupted by the door opening and a voice ringing through the shop. 

“Sylvain, you said two minutes, we need to get going,” yells a voice that bounces off the walls and echoes in Ashe’s ears for a second, catching him off guard as Sylvain turns. 

“I’m just picking up my book, Felix. I swear it’s not been that long,” he says rolling his eyes at Ashe, who hands over the register to sign, and as he does this ‘Felix’ appears. 

_ My man of lightning. _

The words cross his mind and he drops the book. It clatters to the floor and Sylvain apologies, bending to pick it up which draws the gaze of  _ him. _ Felix, the literal man of his dreams, whose appearance he can now fully see for the first time. Dark, long hair pulled messy off his face, a grey coat over black jeans and nondescript boots. He holds his phone in a clenched fist, glaring straight at Ashe as his eyes move. 

Light eyes, almost golden hidden within the autumn brown, which widen and spark at the same moment that Ashe spies them. And he knows that same sentiment is passed through, a rumble that becomes a roar, string taut almost to snapping, drawing him to this person of his imagination. 

“Um, do you know each other?” 

Sylvain’s query is a bridge to reality, and Ashe snaps his eyes away and sees him looking between them, the signed register still held out. 

“No,” Felix says, then turns on his heel and marches out of the shop, Ashe finding himself exhaling shakily in his wake. 

“Okaayyy,” Sylvain drawls, and Ashe instantly blushes, remembering he’s still with a customer. 

“My apologies! Do you need a bag?” he says, and Sylvain shakes his head, still looking warily towards the door. 

“No, I’m good. Thanks for your help,” he says quickly, giving Ashe a somewhat strained smile before quickly leaving. 

As soon as he’s gone, Ashe collapses back on the floor, dropping his head in his hands. He can feel his pulse beat in his head, breath coming sharply as he attempts to understand what just occurred. 

“I’m going insane,” Ashe mutters, but knows with a chime of certainty this is not the case. 

He calms slowly, easing himself up and numbly walks back to the books, back to the mundane of stacking and serving the scant few customers which arrive until his shift ends. And as the day progresses, slowly logic sets in. Felix must have reminded him of the dream, nothing more. Deja vu is something Ashe has had for his entire life, and while today was incredibly embarrassing, it is nothing more than his mind playing tricks. 

He needs more rest, and vows he’ll have an early night, locking up that persistent nagging of his mind that he is dismissing this all too lightly. 

* * *

He is Ashe’s lightning man as that is what he is. In the dreams that go on for longer, he somehow conjures a lightning strike from the air as Ashe draws closer, avoiding those who would attack him, circling as he picks the best time to strike with his arrows. And ever more, this fierce man, the enemy Ashe thinks, cuts forward with steel and lightning, never stopping to doubt his actions. 

It is not a good dream. Not a sweet ending. Most of the time, it ends with the flight or a glimpse of this man, who even in his dreams Ashe cannot take his eyes from, so captured by his every move from on high. 

But sometimes, the entire dream plays out. 

And those are almost the worst nights. 

* * *

Felix turns up on a Thursday. 

He enters with the same determination as before, the door creaking slightly, unused to such force. Ashe doesn’t need to look up to know it's him, his pulse hammering and he considers, for a second, just hiding. But then he mentally berates himself; his shift is almost over, and he shouldn’t be this bothered by someone who just reminds him of a dream. 

So he continues packing away as he hears Felix speak to his colleague, grabs his coat and moves into the front of the store. He’s aiming to simply pass with a wave goodbye, when Ignatz speaks to him. 

“Oh, Ashe, as you’re leaving could you help this customer take their order to their car?” he asks, and Ashe nods, mechanically. 

He turns on his heel to meet Felix’s eye, who appears to be glaring at him with two large boxes stacked on top of one another. That glare makes him flinch a little, left hand tensing back and for a second he feels like he should say...something, alleviate that tension with a code word that only he knows, but cannot quite piece together in this second. 

Yet as he stands, the glare does subside, and Ashe moves forward to take one box. 

“You don’t have to,” Felix says, tone softer than Ashe expects, and something about it makes him smile. 

“It’s not a problem, I’m on my way out,” he assures, but turns towards the door before he can slip up or say anything strange. 

Ignatz holds open the door, and Felix leads them out, turning just up the street towards where his car is. They walk in silence, and Ashe suddenly has to fill it; not an urge he usually has but this situation is odd in all sense. 

“You’ve ordered a lot of books,” comes out of his mouth, and he feels himself blush as it’s the most obvious statement in the world. 

“Not mine. Sylvain again, I’m just picking them up,” he says, hurrying on, and Ashe grimaces, hardly able to continue anything from that. Thankfully, Felix stops at the next car, opening the trunk, and Ashe slides the box inside, stepping back when done. 

Felix turns back, brushing his hair from his eyes and looking back at Ashe, leaning against the car. The wind picks up, and Ashe inhales the smells of firelight and oil, of a dusty library and a candle burning, of a sunbeaten day destroyed by the blackened wood of burning villages. 

He shakes his head, dismisses random images, and wonders why they are still standing there, a gaping distance between two strangers that somehow Ashe needs to cross. 

“Would you like to go for coffee?” Ashe says, and then bites his lip because, oh god, that’s too forward. He only knows this man’s name by his friend saying it, they’ve met twice and he’s imagining him walking out of a dream, it’s odd, so very odd-

“Fine. I have nowhere to be for a few hours. Where?” Felix says, turning away to lock the car, and Ashe’s mouth falls open at his turned back. 

He composes himself enough to give Felix a strained smile, and then leads the way to a nearby cafe. It’s at that odd time between nightlife and day, the cafe relatively empty as they order their drinks. Ashe grabs his latte and heads to the back of the room, needing for some reason a more private area for instances that he cannot explain. 

Felix follows. Then sits down opposite him and sips his drink. In silence. 

It is definitely awkward. Not comfortable awkward, but just awkward, and Ashe finds himself nervously looking around before Felix sighs. 

“Why ask me to coffee if you don’t want to talk?” he says, and although his tone is stern there is a glimmer of an edge, enough that Ashe recognises is humour and perhaps nervousness, so clings to it. 

“It was a little forward of me,” he says with a chuckle, and Felix shrugs. 

“No, just something you’d do.” 

They both freeze then. Felix with his mug half drawn upwards, Ashe cradling his hands on the china tensing with the effort. 

“What do you-” 

“Nothing. Sorry,” Felix says, then taking a gulp, and grimacing at the heat. 

Ashe knows this is a moment where he could let it go. Where he could carry on, perhaps have a nice conversation about movies or the weather, but he cannot bring himself to drop that thread now Felix has plucked at it. 

“So you recognise me too,” he says, bold and sure, taking a step so Felix doesn’t have to leap, a halfway point reached. 

Felix takes his time. Studies Ashe, pins him with that stare which is a bolt from his dreams. The calculation, that moment before strike, that second before-

Heat. Golden-brown eyes. Resolve fading, denial, fear, oh so much fear, it can’t be-

Ashe has to inhale deeply almost tipping forward in that chair at the sudden suffocation of imagination. Felix leans forward in alarm, almost touching him but not quite. 

“Ashe, are you alright?” he says sharply, enough to make Ashe recall where he is and why. 

“S-sorry, I don’t know what that was,” he says with a nervous edge. 

Felix looks at him then, and without another word, stands. His drink is half finished, but before Ashe can say anything else, he looks down on him, a new mask in place, something harder and more closed. 

“This was a bad idea,” is all he says before he takes his coat and spins it onto his shoulders in a fluid motion, Ashe’s eyes widening. 

“Wait, no, hang on!” he says, scrambling up to meet Felix when he’s already at the door. He delves into his pocket, grabs his wallet and flips it open, almost ripping out the small business card there. It’s aged and folded, he rarely needs them, but that’s not what matters. 

“My number. Just...just in case,” he tries. 

He thinks for a second Felix will dismiss it. The tension stretches on, and then with a tsk of frustration, Felix swipes it from his grasp and leaves at an almost run, Ashe’s hand not falling back to his side for several moments. He wanders back to his seat, deflated and suddenly tired, the half drunk tea the only proof of what just occurred. 

That, and Ashe’s brain unhelpfully insisting it’s the wrong type of tea. 

* * *

The worst nights are twofold. The first is the end of the flying dream. 

The battle rages beneath him, but Ashe knows from some part of this dream sequence, that is only the beginning. A horror of horrors as this level of fatality and ruin is enough to haunt his waking hours for days, but yet in his dream, he blinks it all away, hardened but still hurting, not unaffected but coping. 

The man who fills his senses is an excellent warrior, but he is, as Ashe swoops, clearly human. He bleeds from a blow to the temple, matting the twist of his dark hair, eyes focused on the wave before him, summoning lightning to decimate, arms lifted. 

It is then, Ashe strikes. 

He dives, stomach swooping at the sudden rush, somehow his dream persona managing to balance and pull out his bow, stringing an arrow as he closes in. The man turns, but Ashe is not looking at his face as he pulls the arrow taut, perhaps to focus on the target, perhaps because he cannot do that. 

The arrow flies. It hits him squarely in the chest and Ashe reloads as a lightning strike goes wide. The man is on his knees now, still managing to cut down a person before him, but that momentary lapse away from Ashe gives him an opening. 

The arrow slices through his stomach. The man convulses and Ashe hovers, frozen in the reality of what he’s done, as blood stains stone in floods, too much to be saved by any miracle. 

His lightning man then looks up. Gold brown gaze, pale face, mouth twisting over words that he occasionally remembers into the morning as the life drains from his body, and he watches each second of it, unable to stop. Staying, in a way, although he is not close enough to truly do anything but witness and becom haunted by the final lines of this man who means something to him, even if he does not know what. 

_ “I failed.” _

* * *

Felix sends him a message as he takes the train to his old home. It starts as a simple, almost blunt enquiry regarding another edition of a book Sylvain apparently wants, and moves into general, if stilted, chatter as Ashe’s journey continues. 

It’s an odd feeling, familiar yet not, very much like this day is in general for Ashe as he makes his way to the home that was his for so long, but is now not what he’d name as such. He and Felix are perfect strangers, he has to remind himself, but they speak as if they are old but distant friends, picking up lines of inquiry after years of separation. 

It’s warming but also terribly disturbing, so he’s almost thankful for the distraction of his sister tackling him into a hug as he steps through the door. His brother gives him a wave and then looks back at his phone, leaving Lily to roll her eyes.

“He’s got a boyfriend,” she says, and Will’s head snaps up, glaring. 

“So do you!” he yells back, and Ashe feels like they’re both children again, not teens, and Lonato takes that moment to walk in, looking fond but exasperated. 

“Can you both leave it alone for this weekend?” he asks, and Ashe laughs, going over to hug his father hello. 

He sends a few more messages to Felix as the night goes on, but focuses on celebrating with his family, thankful once more, that Lonato had adopted them all so many years before. He doesn’t know what he would have done otherwise. Well, the answer is anything to protect and care for his siblings, but he’s never had to test precisely how far he would be willing to go. So instead, he just immerses himself in their family weekend together. 

The place is almost the same as the day he left, except for the ways his siblings have shifted and changed, the posters and possessions that litter in their wake transformed from the interests they’d had before. Ashe still has a room here, mostly untouched, a huge wall of a bookcase the main feature. He scans the spines, smiling at old favourites, hours recalled in this very space pouring over novels. 

There’s many fantasy books here, so it’s unsurprising in a way his dreams are of magic, flying beasts, and grand battles. Maybe in some of the volumes here, he can find inspiration for his repetitive dreams, and picks a few at random, spreading them out on the bed. 

“I have the first one of that series, if you’re looking for it.” 

Ashe jumps, looking up to see his brother staring at him. He puts the book down and smiles, although part of him notices the ‘I have’ and not ‘I’ve borrowed your stuff without asking again.’

“No, I was just trying to remember a story,” he says, and Will comes fully into the room. 

“Which one?” he asks, and Ashe hesitates before speaking, having to edit out the parts he feels he’s lived himself. 

His brother frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t remember anything like that. Do you know when you read it?” 

Ashe shakes his head, putting the books back in their places, stomach churning with the nerves which course through, impossibilities becoming somehow less and less impossible with each passing day. 

“I just keep dreaming about it,” he admits, turning back and shrugging, expecting some teasing comment from Will. 

It doesn’t come. His brother just blinks back, eyes so like Ashe’s own focusing, calculating and questioning, his posture closed off for a moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly, once. 

“I always dream of a castle,” he says, carefully, as if he’s taste-testing each word. 

“Castle?” Ashe asks, leaning forward. 

“Yeah. The same place but it’s...different. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes I think we’re all there, and it’s bright, clear and the grounds go on forever. Some dreams are bad though. The banners fly red and I’m running out but-” 

He stops, swallows, then looks away. Ashe waits, taut and afraid if he’s honest, wanting to reach out, tell his brother that the dreams aren’t real, nothing and no one can touch them, he won’t let it. 

But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?

Will looks back, giving him a shaking smile. “I’m pretty glad to be awake at the end of those ones,” he says, and Ashe cannot help it, he’s up on his feet and striding over, pulling his brother into a hug who clings back, desperate and shaking, in a way that is so horrifyingly familiar it brings tears to his eyes. 

They stay like that for a while, then go back downstairs where it’s light and warm, away from dreams too real to be anything but. It’s that night, just as he packs away that Felix sends him a request. 

_ Dinner tomorrow night, when you get back?  _

Ashe doesn’t have the power in him to do anything but accept, starting to puzzle through some realisation that despite their ludicrous nature, must be true. He cannot claim he sleeps well, but he is not plagued with nightmares or dreams of any sort. Just good old fashioned nervousness at a maybe date with a guy. 

_ Not a date _ , he reminds himself as he walks into the restaurant that night, a casual place that he’s not heard of before, quiet at this time on a Sunday, cherry wood furniture and low lighting that Ashe tries to tell himself is just style rather than romance, as he locates Felix near the back, by a window. 

“Hi, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” Ashe says, and Felix looks up, eyes bright and sharp in the honey-dimmed light. 

For a second, Ashe can imagine stealing that glow, watching it fade to nothing before Felix falls, crumples, the light fading into blankness as his life drains in crimson. But he shakes it away as Felix speaks. 

“No, you’re on time,” he says, and gestures to the seat opposite, which Ashe busies himself in taking before his mind can spiral further into visions of death. 

The table is small, so he’s immediately in close proximity to Felix, a small candle on their table aiding with the ambience, Ashe hands moving forward, almost as if he’s going to reach out, cross the space and grasp. An almost practised motion, or want perhaps, he cannot imagine how it would conclude, even if the action seems simple. 

Felix looks good like this, all contrasting tones of dark and light, hair tied in a high ponytail and wearing a royal blue, soft looking jumper. Ashe tries not to stare too much as he moves, clearing his throat at the stretch of his arms as Felix reaches for the menu. 

Not. A. Date. 

“It’s all good here, pick whatever you want,” Felix says, handing over the menu and Ashe glances through before spying an old favourite. Just in time, for a server comes to take their orders, and then they are once again left to their own devices. 

“Enjoy your weekend away?” Felix says, leaning back on his chair, which Ashe can tell is a feint at nonchalance by the tension in his shoulders, but this oddly makes him in turn relax, knowing he is not the only one nervous. 

He leans forward then, space diminishing and leans on his hand to answer. 

“It was great, went to visit my family,” he says, unsure if Felix really wants to hear or if he is just making polite conversation. It seems he does though, for he asks more questions, and in turn Ashe gets to ask his own; learns Felix lives with Sylvain although he’s a vet, but the two have been friends since childhood. 

Ashe in turns talks of his job, and they both speak about books, seeing as Felix knows many of the volumes he’d been looking at the night before in his old room, the time passing between them like water in his hands, and he barely checks the hours as the night deepens and the meal ends. 

“I’ll have the peach cheesecake, thank you,” Ashe says, ordering desert, while Felix makes a face and shakes his head. 

Ashe chuckles, “I know, you don’t like sweet things,” he says.

They both still at the same time, staring at one another, Ashe’s mouth drying out as he tries to come up with a rational explanation of not only why he said it but why he knows it to be true. A muscle in Felix’s jaw jumps, tension clear, but he doesn’t stop looking at Ashe, doesn’t deny or question. 

And this is too much for him to bear. 

“It’s not just me, is it? You...know me,” Ashe says, barely above a whisper, leaning forward. He’s interrupted as his cheesecake arrives, and he manages to give a smile to the server before looking back at Felix. 

The tension is clear, and Ashe knows by his posture Felix is close to bolting. But this dual edged blade of magnetism and trepidation is too much now for Ashe to back down. 

“Why do I know so much about you when I met you a few weeks ago?” Ashe insists, but keeps his tone light, hoping he doesn’t spook.

Felix looks away, one fist uncurling where it’s resting on the table. With nothing left to do, Ashe starts eating, the sweetness curdling in his mouth as it melds with uncertainty, but he swallows, barely tasting, waiting all the while. It is worth it, though, for by the time he’s half finished, Felix’s head slowly looks back to him. 

“I don’t know. We’ve never met. I don’t know you,” he says, and Ashe wants to be exasperated at this level of denial, but he just steadies himself, putting down his fork to look back at his companion fully. 

“But you do, or well, I know you. I know you don’t like sweet things, I know you don’t mind cooking but hate baking as it bothers you how one little change can mean disaster. I know you’re an early riser and I knew your favourite book before you even told me,” he says, in a rush and watches as the colour drains from Felix’s face and his eyes turn to flint, dangerous like the man of Ashe’s nightmares. 

But he cannot stop, now he’s started he can’t let this go, and he has an inkling that at times like this, the only way to get through to Felix is to raise your argument in full. 

“I-I know it’s strange. I don’t understand it either, but since I first met you there’s been this...pull, this understanding. This will sound impossible, but please just hear me out. I’ve been...seeing you, all my life. As long as I can remember I’ve had dreams-” 

It’s clearly the last word that does it, for Felix he stands abruptly, chair scraping back and Ashe backing away in alarm. Felix throws down bills on the table with barely a glance before striding out of the restaurant without a word. Ashe watches the door close with his mouth open for a second, before he springs into action. He checks the money, noticing there is more than enough, the sprints out of the door, not looking back at the scene he must be causing. 

He stands on the street, the full dark not helping his panic as he scans both left and right for a sign of Felix. He’s about to get his phone and try to call, when he sees a shadow of a figure pass under a street lamp to the pavement on his left, the specific hue of the coat catching his attention. 

As he runs, crosses the road without paying much attention, knowing in the back of his mind he is supremely lucky there is no traffic. His shoes pound the pavement, sliding around a corner and almost misstepping as Felix marches on. But finally, he closes in, calling his name, and Felix jerks around. 

Ashe doesn’t stop, isn’t sure what Felix will do, nor what he will either when he reaches or if Felix sprints off himself. Apparently it’s the former, for Felix stands still, looking half amazed half furious as Ashe slows before him. 

“Ashe, what are you doing?” he hisses, voice low even if there are no people around. 

Ashe gulps in air, heartbeat drumming in his mind, from both the fear and the exercise, but steadies himself. 

“I know you understand what I’m saying. We can’t just...we can’t-” 

“Can’t what?” Felix demands, voice tinged with frost, stepping forward once so he is barely a few paces away from Ashe. “Can’t pretend I see impossible realities of you, a person I genuinely have barely met, yet know almost as well as myself? Do you want me to talk about these things I see? Of my best friend bleeding in the snow? Of my whole family dying, but at the same time knowing I was the best man at my brother’s wedding last year?” Felix says, voice rising in tone but not volume, Ashe swallowing heavily at the pain he sees reflected back at him, a shared pain which he understands utterly. 

“I know it’s hard, I see it too-” 

“You don’t know,” Felix says, cutting him off and stepping forward again. This time, their faces are close, so very close that Ashe feels his pulse rise for other reasons, his body pulling forward to reject the possibility of space between them, that need and magnetism growing. 

Felix swallows, and Ashe watches his throat bob. Felix’s eyes slide to his and Ashe leans forward. 

“What could I not know, Felix? After all this, what is there left?” he whispers. 

The flare in those golden eyes is all he gets before a hand reaches, tugs at his waist and ignites even through his heavy coat. He knows this pull, this strength and yet questioning touch like he knows his own name, but no memories this time flash up. He’s almost side stepped, as Felix pulls him closer, then twists to the side without a word. 

Ashe gasps, static of the oncoming lightning storm making its way as a shudder through his skin as Felix traces the line of his neck with air, his breath a half kiss that has Ashe’s eyes closing, anticipating the full touch that he knows is to follow. 

Except, it doesn’t come. What Felix does is stop and whisper in his ear. 

“When you die, or should I say, when I kill you, do you know what you say? You tell me you know this is it, but don’t want to die here. And that is clearly, what you do not know, Ashe.” 

And then he’s gone, once again striding off and leaving him cold in the street, Ashe’s hands shaking uncontrollably in his absence. 

* * *

The worst nights come rarely. His mind does not like the second dream; a fragment of fantastical sensations rather than the full theatrics of his flying adventures. 

It’s hot. Unbearably hot in this world of lava and crimson clouds. He doesn't know where he is, how it came to be like this, but the heat is in his lungs, in his gasping breath, saturating everything. 

Perhaps it’s just the crimson atmosphere that’s making him feel like he’s burning from the inside, a red dawn seeming to appear behind mountains. Perhaps it’s the sword in his gut. That may answer many questions. 

It hurts. Ashe knows it hurts and as the blade slides out, smooth and perfect, stained in blood that is his, the pain doubles. But more terrifying than pain is the knowledge that this is it. Mere second is all has left of life, of existence. Of everything he’s ever known. 

And he doesn’t want it. He is so beyond fear, but there is nothing he can do. 

He’s caught in arms as he falls, legs failing, the first part of his body to go. His head tilts, and the sun is blocked by a face, anguish and sorrow in the expression, dark hair falling around his eyes. 

Ashe tastes steel, and reaches up, hands bloody, to part the escaping strands, to see the last person he ever will see in his life. He could say many things, but all that comes out is fear. He is dying, and he doesn’t want to, would give anything to rewind time and not experience this, but he cannot. 

The man doesn’t say anything, but holds him, keeps him close and warm, as safe as one can be as their life ends. 

When he awakens, it’s always with an ache and in tears, holding onto himself as he’s afraid the sword can still pierce him in reality, this his murderer and comforter is really hiding under the bed. 

He forgets this dream soon after. His mind hides it for as long as it can. 

No one should recall their own death in such detail. 

* * *

The days are strange. Ashe keeps moving through his routine, but it’s soured and tainted, always looking over his shoulder for a person he knows will not be there, is never coming back. He has his own death dream more frequently, Felix running him through with a sword then holding him as he dies in a place of burning rocks. 

Some part of him thinks it’s only fair really. For in another world, he shot Felix with arrows until he died, so it’s justice. A perverse, strange type but still one. Yet what does that mean for now? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again wishing for a different outcome. They kill each other in...some other life Ashe supposes, or at least two lives. What’s to say they won’t now? 

Ashe shakes his head. That thinking will get him nowhere and nothing. Besides, Felix made himself clear by his actions last time. There is no way that they will meet again. 

So when his phone chimes with an address and a time, he stares at it for at least ten minutes before being sure it is real. 

Although his  _ destined to murder each other _ theory does rear its head, he checks the address and finds a new build apartment complex. Plenty of people, in the good part of town, at 5pm. Not really your usual murder scene, and despite or perhaps due to all this, Ashe needs to see whatever is coming through. 

Doesn’t increase the nerves on the elevator in, the plush dark purple carpets and bold stark lighting of the newly furnished place making it all feel worse rather than better. But he finds number 24 and knocks, twisting his hands within one another as he heard the sound of Felix walking to the door. 

It opens slowly, and he’s there. Felix Fraldarius, the man he murdered, the man who killed him in return. He manages a half smile though, and Felix steps aside silently, ushering him in. The apartment is neat, so very neat and pristine, which seems bizarre, except Ashe recalls Felix lives with Sylvain who is meticulously neat-

He stops himself. None of that, please no more of that. 

“Want a drink?” Felix asks as he closes the door. 

“Um, water please,” Ashe says, mouth dry and also to give him more time to calm himself. He looks around at the glass coffee table, with a stack of three neatly placed books and an open laptop, headphones still plugged in. Felix’s jacket is by the door, and the kitchen looks well used, Felix returning with two full glasses of water in ornate red cups, Ashe thanking him as he takes a sip. 

“Sit,” Felix says, in what is actually a request even if the word is not. 

Ashe does, taking a seat on the black, surprisingly soft couch opposite the laptop and chair, Felix oddly sitting beside him. They both sip their water for a second before Ashe clears his throat. 

“I take it you wanted to talk?” he says slowly. 

Felix nods, then puts his glass down. 

“I wanted to apologise. I was rude, hasty even. The other week,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with describing the incident. 

A bubble of laughter escapes Ashe and he shakes his head. “No, you were right. I had forgotten dying. And not wanting to. Don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before,” he says, and Felix closes his eyes for a second. 

“I’m sorry,” he says with feeling, and when he opens his eyes, Ashe has to reach forward and grip his hand. 

“Felix, I shot you. Multiple times, and watched you die, you don’t need to apologise,” he says.

They both stare at each other, and Ashe finally shakes his head. 

“I know I did those things but I can’t...it just seems so unbelievable,” he says, and Felix hums. 

“I remember other things too. About my life in other times, I suppose,” he says. 

“I don’t, really. Just bits and pieces, especially when I see someone like you or Sylvain. My brother says he remembers things too,” Ashe says putting his glass down, and it’s the stretch to do so that alerts him they are still holding hands. 

Felix seems to realise that too, for as Ashe returns he pulls ever so slightly, just like that night on the street, but due to their places, Ashe sort of tips forward, bracing himself on Felix’s shoulders. He knows he’s blushing, feels his skin burn but Felix smiles, right side pulling higher and Ashe needs to taste that look, kiss away the smugness and feel the skin beneath his hands. 

So he does. Or they do. He cannot tell who leans in first but what matters is they meet, Ashe trembling slightly while Felix kisses with a confidence gained from knowing this is what he wants, and Ashe consumes that and returns it tenfold, arms snaking around Felix’s neck as his mouth opens as an invitation. 

It’s one Felix takes, Ashe’s nerves alive with the excitement and inevitability, the warmth and the joy at being in these arms, tasting Felix on his lips and surrendering to the sparks and fumes of intoxicating newness, bursts of sensation from his toes all the way up, unsure which feelings and connection to chase first. 

And as the kiss deepens, he sees. Sees the corner of a dusty library, doing the same thing but more intensely, in case they're caught, in case someone knows. A chaste kiss in a tent, just a brush of lips on leaving. A sun streaked day in a crowded city, pulling on Felix’s hand as the banners fly high and azure, his laughter loud and full of relief. 

The break apart with the finality of a commencement, Ashe breathing deeply, almost sitting in Felix’s lap, the buzz of realisation hurtling him forward. 

“We lived once. I saw it, we didn’t die, we were together-”

“I don’t care,” Felix says, voice rough as gravel, and Ashe likes that more than he should. 

“I don’t care,” Felix repeats again, sitting up to rest his forehead against Ashe's hand cupping his cheek. 

“This is so much better,” he says, resolute and sure. Ashe nods, smile wide as he prepares for a second kiss. 

He couldn’t agree more. 

* * *

Ashe wakes from a dream he doesn’t recall, but residual smoke sits heavy in his lungs, unreal and intense as warfare is in this life he’s in now. He registers vaguely that it’s day, thin bright light leaking through the edge of the blinds as he leans forward and coughs, inhaling deeply. 

He doesn’t know which battle of which time he’s remembering, it hasn’t clung to wakefulness but in many ways it doesn’t matter. Its shadows remain, attempt to pull him down into fear and wonderings. Except now, he’s not the only one who can fight them. 

“Hey, it’s not real,” says a voice to his left, followed by an arm around his waist, gently tugging him backwards until Ashe is lying in bed, half across Felix’s chest, eyes staring at the walls. 

Felix isn’t the best at comfort, never has been, his mind supplies, but he’s getting better at finding his own ways of offering that the longer they are together. And recovering from these...memories is something he has had much practice at. 

Felix kisses the top of his head and Ashe smiles to himself, sitting up so he’s hovering over him, Felix’s hand reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“Which one?” he asks, and Ashe shakes his head. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies and Felix nods before Ashe leans down and kisses him. It’s grounding, always is, the way Felix’s kisses back with languid motions, these first-dawn kisses that are slow and welcoming, the start of another hour, another day with one another. 

It’s new and it’s theirs; not fractured by past selves or other words, whatever they are in their minds. Since their first kiss, Ashe hasn’t recalled that other time they did end up together. He has an inkling Felix remembers more of it, as he in general remembers more. He’s told Ashe about the dream where he kills his three best friends, and Ashe has held him through the aftermath of that. 

But this is your life now, he reminds himself. He doesn’t want to remember another time where they did this; he wants to experience it all for the first time. The highs of morning kisses and late nights of skin and kisses; of first dates and meeting families, or moving this forward in whatever speed is theirs. 

He pulls back and just looks at Felix; kiss-stung lips, darkness, hair tangled and long across the pillow, blinking up in slight, still sleepy confusion. 

“What?” Felix mumbles, a shade of pink dusting across his cheeks which Ashe cannot ever get enough of. 

“Just looking at you,” he says, and laughs when Felix groans, and Ashe sits up as he moves to get out of bed. 

“I need coffee. What do you want to do today?” Felix asks, standing and stretching, Ashe watching the flex of his shoulders which produces an answer to the question which he’s sure would make that flush travel further south. He refrains though, following Felix out of the room and sitting down at the kitchen table to watch him ready the coffee. 

“I’m not sure, really. Just something with you. Low key,” Ashe says. 

Felix sets the coffee to brew, then turns around frowning. Ashe blinks, but before he can do anything, Felix marches across the room, curls his hands around Ashe’s cheeks and kisses him. This kiss is pure lightning, his man of lightning in this world, real and just for him, deepening and surrounding Ashe in all that he is: his care, his affection, his worry and what might be building between them, those steps and pathways that connect as a precursor to love. 

Ashe pulls back and cannot speak, so drowned in all that is Felix, who just looks down at him in fierceness of devotion, framed by morning light, a vision that’s walked out of everything he never knew he could want. 

“I’m here,” Felix says, simple and true. 

And all the past lives and other words this strange universe can go to hell for all Ashe cares, it may be insanity, but it’s his choice, and he’ll live this repeat once more. As this is all he wants now. Them, together. And time to make something of it, whatever it may be.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ashe's death line was the one that hurt me most in the whole game. That and Bernie's. My heart. 
> 
> Find me on: [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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